Billionaire's Beloved Wife - Chapter 580: Qin Lu, Don’t You Feel Sorry At All? – Part 1

The Imperial Court of Tang Empire became dim and corrupt. The Emperor believed eunuchs. The officials vied with each other for authority. The Tang Empire was about to collapse. The flouring Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism eyed it covetously. The three sects wanted to contend for the domination of the whole world. Which one would win in the end? Or would they coexist peacefully at last? Armies of different nations invaded the frontier on all sides. People and the whole world were in extreme misery. Who could save them?

A young man of the Imperial Clan was reborn in Chang’an. In the Last Life, he was framed and was driven out of his place. He was the king of the subjugated country. When he wandered on the streets, he wanted to be an ordinary people and live an ordinary life in Chang’an but failed.

In this life, he determined to fight against the heaven and change his own fate. He would not give those people an opportunity who framed him in his Last Life. He would hold his title and his place. In order to maintain order and peace of the world, he was going to wipe out all villains of the whole world with the Imperial Sword, adhere to the emperor’s principle, and enact the new national law. He would rule over the empire to prove himself.

- Description from Novelupdates

At the end of the story, I found myself in the body of a hidden villain, betraying the heroines. Since I’m not particularly concerned about the end of the world, I’m calmly waiting for the finale… “You’re the only one who truly appreciated my painting of the boa.” “When I make plans to meet you at four, my heart starts racing at three... is this what they call being tamed?” For some reason, the heroines are starting to take an interest in me.

The handsome, skilled newbie livestreamer, Ji Zhiyao, has a dream.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”